Davos knew that to change their minds, he had to let the facts speak for themselves. So he called Georgios, went to the baggage camp to pick up a cow stomach, took it to a stream near the camp, scrubbed it clean with effort, then boiled water in a clay pot, blanched the stomach in hot water, drew his dagger, and began slicing it.
Meanwhile, the five men who had been half-swayed by Olivus's words, along with some curious soldiers, had circled Davos several times over.
Davos unhurriedly ladled several spoonfuls of broth from another pot where beef and mutton were cooking, poured it into a new clay pot, and once it boiled, added the sliced tripe. After a short while, he lifted the pot, sprinkled in salt, and had a simple batch of quick-boiled tripe ready.
“Here, have a taste.”
Matonis hesitated, then stabbed a piece with his dagger, blew on it hard, and slowly put it in his mouth.
When others asked him about it, he didn't answer. Without changing expression, he stabbed another piece… then another… Only then did everyone react, ready to swarm him—Matonis, ignoring the heat on his hands, grabbed the pot and ran, with the others cursing and chasing after him.
Davos hadn't expected the big fellow Matonis to be so shrewd; he found it rather amusing.
“So animal innards are not only edible but taste good,” said Heilos, who hadn't joined the chase, with a sigh.
Davos said nothing. Not all animal innards tasted this good—liver, for instance—but it was very beneficial to the human body. In this era, with no industrial pollution, eating them should carry no risk of poisoning.
“But the meat we've been allotted is already enough for a day's ration. In this heat, these innards will go bad by tomorrow,” Heilos said helplessly.
Davos had already thought of a solution. Pointing at the sheep intestines that had been tossed aside, he said, “We can make smoked sausages.” (In fact, in this era, some horse-herding tribes in Persia were already using horse intestines to make sausages, though it wasn't widespread yet.)
“Smoked sausages?”
…
When the group returned, they looked at Davos with a hint of awe. Having tasted the delicious quick-boiled tripe, they believed Olivus wasn't wrong—if not a God-Touched One, why would only Davos among over ten thousand Greeks think these filthy things were edible, and even make them taste so good! Before, Davos had been just like them, throwing animal innards far away. Now such a change must be the favor of Hades.
Therefore, when Davos gave orders, it became much easier. They endured the stench of sheep intestines, washed them in the stream, then chopped up the innards and leftover meat, stuffed them into the casings. After stuffing a short length, they tied it off with thread pulled from linen cloth, then stuffed another section, tied again…
When finished, they hung them on a wooden pole and kept them smoking over a fire. This method of making smoked sausages Davos had learned from villagers when he was a village official in his previous life. With limited conditions and time, they had to simplify the process—as long as they could store them for a few more days and they were edible, that was enough.
Davos and his men made a big show of smoking sausages, naturally attracting many curious onlookers. After Olivus, Matonis, and others boasted about it, Davos became something of a curiosity, stared at by soldiers again and again. Soon, “Davos is a God-Touched One” and “smoked sausages” began spreading through Menon's camp…
By noon, news came: the Persian King had sent envoys to offer surrender terms, but the leaders refused.
In the afternoon, word came again. Ariaeus's messenger returned with his reply: he refused to attack the King's army, only wanted to return to Asia Minor, and was willing to march back together with the Greek mercenaries.
Davos had been right again; no one was surprised anymore.
Soon, more news arrived: Clearchus intended to sacrifice livestock to Zeus, letting the chief god decide whether they should fight or retreat.
Davos found it amusing—this was clearly the mercenary leaders shirking responsibility. But his comrades awaited the divination results with utmost seriousness, making Davos realize it was unreasonable to judge ancient practices by modern standards.
Apparently, the leaders got unfavorable divination results. So orders finally came down: the mercenaries would join forces with Ariaeus's troops and march back to Asia Minor.
Now, soldiers in every camp had to immediately pack their gear and load baggage onto pack animals. After dark, when the bronze trumpet sounded, each camp would depart in turn.
Suddenly, tension filled the camp, but each man's face showed some relief—after all, it had been eight or nine months since they left Asia Minor, and they could finally go home. No one wanted to linger in hostile territory.
“Can we take these sausages down now?” Heilos asked.
Davos looked up at the dozen or so strings of sausages being smoked and shook his head. “Wait until dark, take them right before we leave.” He knew half a day was nowhere near enough to properly smoke sausages, but every bit of extra smoking meant longer storage.
Everyone began dismantling tents and packing luggage with practiced skill. Davos had the memory of doing so, but he still needed to turn that memory into habit. He watched and learned earnestly.
When they carried their tents and gear to the baggage camp, Davos saw the fat man shouting loudly, directing his men to load goods. Despite the many soldiers arriving, he kept good order and worked methodically.
“Who's that?” Davos pointed at him.
“Mesis, Menon's quartermaster. That fat pig is such a cheat—last time I came here looking for a woman, he charged me two silver coins!” Olivus said angrily.
Davos studied the pack animals braying loudly. “Have we ever marched at night before?”
“Rarely. Without moonlight, you can't see a thing. Even with it, night marching is hard. Those big beasts are even more troublesome—they seem docile now, but they get spooked easily at night. There've been a few accidents where people were injured. So the baggage train marches separately from us,” Heilos said.
Davos thought for a moment, handed his luggage to Heilos, and stepped out of the line.
“Hey! Come back! Mesis isn't someone to mess with!” Olivus called.
Afraid Davos might get into trouble, Matonis hurried over as well.
“Halt!” A guard pointed his spear at Davos. “It's not your turn yet. Go queue up!”
Davos showed his empty hands. “I need to see Mesis about something.”
The guard glanced back instinctively, then shook his head. “If I were you, I wouldn't bother that fat man when he's busy.”
“Very well.” Davos grinned slyly and shouted, “Mesis! I can help you with the problem of pack animals getting spooked at night!”
His shout drew the soldiers' attention:
“Isn't that Davos! He even has a solution for that—truly the God-Touched One!”
“What 'God-Touched One'?”
“Don't you know? Davos is the God-Touched One—Olivus told us…”
Listening to the chatter, Davos knew half his goal was achieved.
“You can solve the animal problem?” Mesis walked over, studying Davos with suspicion.
“Of course! He's Davos!” Matonis had nearly become his devotee.
“You're Davos?! The one who made smoked sausages?!” Mesis's expression changed, his face lighting up with surprise.
Davos nodded.
“Come quickly, tell me if there's anything wrong with the sausages I made!” Mesis grabbed Davos and pulled him inside.
When Davos saw the smoked sausages Mesis had made and pointed out the flaws, Mesis complained, “You should have told me about the sausage method first, not those soldiers who only know how to fight. They waste everything! By the time I heard about it, most of the meat and innards were already taken—lucky I reacted fast!…” Mesis suddenly remembered why Davos had come. “Oh, I almost forgot. You said you could solve the problem of pack animals getting spooked at night?”
“Simple. Blindfold them. Oxen and horses are gentle and timid by nature—when they can't see, they won't dare take a step and will blindly follow the lead of whoever guides them,” Davos said seriously. He had learned this from an old village farmer in his previous life.
“Oh! So that's it! I'll go try it!” Mesis turned to run, then stopped. “Davos, I hope you'll come by often! If you want a woman, I won't charge you!”
Davos smiled. This was a truly earnest fat man.
Note: At that time, nomadic tribes in West Asia had already begun using horse intestines to make sausages.
Mesis